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Ink & Chords

A handwritten poem titled “Ink and Chords”

It’s like honey.

One of the sweetest delights of being human is waking with laughter on your lips. For me, it’s a rare occurrence. My dreams are often motivated with an ominous threat—of being found, being discovered, being betrayed. Fuel for my stories, night candy, I like to think. But yesterday morning, I dreamt my lover and I were talking sweetly beneath the sheets. The specifics faded as I came to reality, but I know I was being silly. We giggled in dreamland together, then a blink…another blink…and I awoke to a bright room, laughter still rolling off my tongue.

Ugh. It’s moments like these that fire my heart and electrify the tiny hairs on my arms. Being alive is so complicated and overwhelming and busy and demanding—until it’s not. Until a quiet, soft moment steals your attention and awakes you to the ease of simply “being”. Of just existing, of being alive. I love it. I often forget it.

What does he see?

Today I’m in a coffee shop watching a man create a small painting. I’ve seen him here before. He brings containers and briefcases of materials, pencils, brushes, possibly oil pastels, it’s hard to tell from my corner. But here, amid a sea of iPads and millennial distractions, he works in the coffee shop. He paces around his tiny, crowded table with that unmistakable creative’s eye. Looking. Smudging. Lost in his own world. He’s alive. You don’t have to look twice to feel it.

Sweet escape.

I’m in my own world too at the coffee shop. I don’t mind when people catch me bopping my head, tapping my fingers, moving to the song I play on endless repeat in my headphones. Carving into my journal with a ferocity, as if the inspiration will disappear if I don’t translate these feelings into words immediately. It’s a reliable medicine, my own little doorway to euphoria. I’m alive.

Here’s a poem I scribbled during today’s coffee shop visit:

a melody splits my mind
          want to do
          need to feel
This new voice, familiar strings…
I’m drifting, floating, on the
delicate threads of distant memories.
          and I just want to be held like this
caressed, always and forever
by ink and chords and realized fantasies

Wishing you soft, quiet, profound moments.

– Sam

Thank you for being here today.


  • Michele Lee
    June 24, 2023 at 12:37 am

    Beautiful! 💗

  • luisa zambrotta
    June 24, 2023 at 8:26 am

    Really nice! 💙

  • ceayr
    June 24, 2023 at 9:08 am

    Hi Sam,
    Sometimes in your own world is the only place to be.
    I live in the south of France, on the Cote d’Azur, and often sit in, or outside, the little cafe on the port reading or writing.
    It can be busy and noisy, perhaps with rugby on tv, and I get asked how I can write in such an environment.
    I tell them truthfully that I don’t notice it, I just switch off the rest of the world when I’m working.
    Good luck with your dreams, and thanks for following Sound Bite Fiction.

    • Samantha Burgett
      June 25, 2023 at 7:41 pm

      Hello there!
      Thank you for a glimpse into your world—it’s warming to me that we can be an ocean apart, yet experience the same pull to write in noisy, bustling places. It’s fascinating how many artists and creatives describe the same attraction.
      And thank you for the kind comment! It’s nice to meet you, and I look forward to reading more of Sound Bite Fiction.

  • The Creative Chic
    June 25, 2023 at 6:21 pm


  • Pooja G
    June 26, 2023 at 9:33 am

    Loved the poem. I’ve only woken up laughing twice in my life and both times were amazing.

  • […] Ink & Chords […]

  • Tom
    June 30, 2023 at 12:18 pm

    This was such a charming piece! 🙂 Glad you’re able to treasure the little joys.


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